Asperillus Watsonus
by MarisaKateBella
Summary: It's John's birthday, what has Sherlock gotten him? Fluffy one shot.


John Watson is not a man of extreme attachment to days. He was never the child that eagerly awaited Christmas morning and dressing up on Halloween was just for the perks of gorging himself on candies (especially Mrs. Swanson's caramel apples). No, John was never someone to look forward to holidays. So when he woke up on July first it was just any other ordinary day, except when he came down the stairs (hair tussled, eyes half open, and only one sock on) to make himself a cup of tea he noticed a few garishly wrapped presents sitting on the kitchen table.

He looked around for his elusive flatmate for an explanation, assuming that the presents were some strange experiment for a crime (whether or not the corners were folded in points or squares would determine the killer) but no Sherlock was to be found. Shrugging, John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and clanged about noisily in the kitchen making tea for himself. After the tea had brewed he sat down in his armchair and picked up the newspaper.

The date read: July 1st. John looked behind him to the presents on the table and back to the newspaper huffing silently to himself. He stood up from his chair with the intent of hiding his presents in his room to avoid the mockery that was sure to come from his irritating flatmate (and though he wouldn't admit it to himself he didn't want Sherlock ruining the surprise of what he had gotten). But before John could even move one step he heard a creak and immediately recognized it as the sound of Sherlock's bedroom door opening.

A disheveled Sherlock glided into the kitchen, running a hand through his mussed hair. The hem of his dress shirt was untucked on one side and unbuttoned at the neck, his trousers were wrinkled. John couldn't help but smile at the Consulting Detective as he realized he must have come home from St. Bart's (he was there rather late) and fallen into bed without even untucking his shirt.

John walked into the kitchen, "good morning, there is tea on the—"

"Happy birthday," Sherlock interrupted as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"—counter." John trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "How did you-?"

"Consulting Detective. It's my job. Besides, it's in your medical records, wasn't hard to—"

"Sherlock! Those are private," John immediately bristled.

The tall man gave an uncaring shrug and looked towards the small heap of presents.

"Would you like me to tell you what's in them?"

John followed his gaze towards the presents and then back at Sherlock who was watching him with his mouth slightly pulled up in one corner.

"Well, there isn't any stopping you." John commented sitting down at the table and pulling the first one off the stack (from Mrs. Hudson), holding it up for Sherlock to look at.

"New jumper," Sherlock said bored, "obvious. My guess is dark blue."

Sure enough John opened the square box to find a very soft deep blue jumper in sky colored tissue paper.

"Down to the color even?" John laughed, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

Sherlock smirked under the praise but made no comment.

The next few minutes went by quite the same way, each present Sherlock got down to the almost imperceptible details. Finally a large amount of wrapping paper littered the floor around John's chair, which Sherlock picked up and threw in the bin.

"I was going to get that," John commented.

"Your birthday, it was my pleasure."

"Alright, well I'm going to shower now that that's over," John made his voice sound bored to hide the disappointment that among the jumper from Mrs. Hudson, the new phone case from Harry, a picture frame from Molly, and on-the-go tea mug from Lestrade, there was nothing from Sherlock.

As John hopped off his chair and went off towards the bathroom he could feel Sherlock's eyes watching him and wondered if Sherlock realized that it hurt not to receive a present from your best friend.

After showering John came back into the kitchen, dressed in Mrs. Hudson's new jumper (it really was quite soft). Sherlock was standing with his back against the wall holding something behind his back and looking uncharacteristically jitterish. When John looked in the refrigerator and the door closed with a snap Sherlock jumped.

"Alright?" John asked, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock who cleared his throat and pulled, from behind his back, a flat present wrapped precisely in glittering gold paper.

"Here." Sherlock said, half shoving it at him like it was burning his fingers. When John bewilderedly took the present Sherlock strode across the room and sat down in his chair, putting the tips of his fingers under his chin and jiggling his feet up and down anxiously. John plodded into the living room and sat across from Sherlock.

He examined the package from every angle. It was flat, almost as if a piece of paper, light weight and flimsy, but it was bigger than any regular printer paper.

He began to gingerly open it, not wanting to tear the fabric, and also keeping up the suspense, it was amusing to watch Sherlock still so entirely, his eyes completely focused on John's hands as he slid them under the piece of tape to loosen a corner. When it was finally relaxed he realized indeed it was a piece of paper, with many words on it in quite small font, before he began to read Sherlock spoke in a rushed voice.

"You remember that case about a month ago that I almost couldn't solve because I didn't recognize the mold that was growing in the tea cup that the victim was found holding? Well, I did some more research so as to familiarize myself with the mold that way if it ever came up again then I would remember it and likely solve the case ten times quicker then before. Anyways, upon further inquiry I realized that the reason I had not recognized it was because it had not existed before, at all. I did some final research just to prove myself correct and then found myself the proud discoverer of an entirely new sub-species of bacteria. And apparently, I had to name said sub-species of bacteria. Anyway, it's name is down there at the bottom."

John looked down and read: _Aspergillus__ watsonus_.

"You named a…mold after me?"

"Well, it was this brilliant dark blue color and it helped me solve a case and I was trying to think what helps me solve cases and I couldn't very well name it after my brain, and then you came to mind and it just…worked. I know it's stupid, I can always change it's name, that's the great thing about being the creator, I can always—"

He was cut off as the other man got from his seat and wrapped his arms awkwardly around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock tensed for a moment.

"John?" his voice asked hesitantly, almost as if he were a frightened child.

"Thank you," John said leaning his head towards Sherlock's ear. Sherlock felt him grip the piece of paper tighter in his hand. "It's brilliant. Just like you."


End file.
